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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826819">You're waking me up (everything feels different)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roswyn/pseuds/Roswyn'>Roswyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, I can't believe there's a tag for this, I'm so happy, M/M, Peter Parker takes no shit whatsoever, Sassy Peter Parker, eventually, that's what I'm planning anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:08:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roswyn/pseuds/Roswyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker is a down-on-his-luck convenience store employee. Wade Wilson is an ex-merc with PTSD and some nasty burn scars. When Wade moves in upstairs from Peter's store, the two start an unlikely romance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>278</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For those tired of coffee shop AUs, consider their trashier cousin--the liquor store AU.<br/>Wade just seems to me like the type of guy who would end up at a liquor store a lot more often than a coffee shop, and Peter seems like the type who'd end up working at one, so that's where this fic comes from.<br/>I really don't know if I'm going to continue this. My inspiration has been fickle lately and all it seems to want to write is spideypool so I'm obliging it.<br/>Side note, it's been a long time since I've read either of their comics so I'm sorry if I get anything wrong just chalk it up to it being an AU lol</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Christmas night, and Peter Parker was standing behind the counter of Dave’s liquor store, soaked head to toe in Coca-Cola and in an extremely foul mood. </p><p>The bell over the door tinkled, signaling another customer had entered. </p><p>Peter set down the rag he’d been using to wipe soda off of himself and looked up. The customer was a big guy, wearing a dark grey hoodie, pulled low to cover his face, head tilted down. <em> Great, </em> Peter thought. <em> Am I about to get robbed? Just what I need tonight. </em> </p><p>But then the customer sauntered up to the counter, giving Peter a grin. Peter did a double take. The man’s face was covered in horrible burn scars, extending down his neck and disappearing beneath his hoodie. Peter did his best to quickly hide his shock. </p><p>The scarred man seemed to be doing a double take as well, looking Peter up and down. “What happened to you?” he asked, his voice surprisingly deep even for such a big man. </p><p>Peter sighed. “Customer’s card got declined, so he threw his drink at me.” </p><p>“<em>That’s </em> not in the Christmas spirit.” </p><p>“People are assholes every other day of the year.” Peter shrugged. “Can I get you something?” </p><p>“Oh, right.” The other man looked at the display behind Peter. “Can I get one of those bottles of Jack? And a pack of Marlboros.” </p><p>“Shorts or hundreds?” </p><p>“Shorts. Don’t worry, gorgeous, only thing short about me is my cigarettes.” </p><p>“Thanks for letting me know.” Rolling his eyes at his customer’s audacity, Peter turned back with the cigarettes. “ID?” he asked. </p><p>The other man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet stuffed full of cash. The sight made Peter want to grab it and run, as hard up for money as he was. Instead, he took the driver’s license the man produced and inspected it. </p><p>A blonde haired man with a perfect face smiled back from the card’s picture. The only way to recognize it as the man standing in front of him was the shit-eating grin plastered on both of their faces. </p><p>“I know, I used to be hot, right?” his customer—Wade Wilson, according to his ID—said, raising his eyebrows, or rather the place where his eyebrows <em> should </em> have been. </p><p>“You were decent,” Peter admitted, handing the ID back. “That’ll be 20.76.” At least he didn’t have to worry about <em> this </em>customer’s card getting declined, as Wade paid in cash. </p><p>“You take tips, gorgeous?” Wade held out a five dollar bill. </p><p>“Not allowed, sorry,” Peter deadpanned. As much as he wanted to take the money, there were cameras everywhere, and he was too paranoid of getting fired. He needed this job. And leave it to Sam, his manager, to be camping the cameras on Christmas night. </p><p>Wade shrugged, pocketing the money. “You just looked like you could use it. Rough night?” </p><p>“You don’t know the half of it,” Peter replied, thinking of how many angry customers he’d gotten. </p><p>“Sorry you gotta work on Christmas, that must suck.” </p><p>“It’s fine,” Peter said, shoving Wade’s purchases towards him. “You need a bag?” </p><p>“Nah, I’ll manage.” Instead of taking the liquor and smokes and walking out the door, Wade opened the bottle and took a drink. </p><p>Peter folded his arms. </p><p>Wade held the bottle out towards him. “What about you? Want some Jack with your Coke?” He glanced again at Peter’s soda-soaked appearance. </p><p>Peter stifled his smile and kept his arms folded, not accepting the bottle. That would <em> definitely </em>get him fired. “If you’re not gonna buy anything else, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”</p><p>Wade held up his hands. “I’m going.” He pocketed the cigarettes and turned to leave, but spun back around when he got to the door. “What time do you get off again?”  </p><p>“Past your bedtime,” Peter shot back. Normally he was fed up with his drunk customers flirting with him, but there was something...charming, about Wade. Still, he wasn’t falling for the act. Wade seemed like the kind of guy who pulled this routine on everyone he came across.</p><p>“Shut down,” Wade muttered. “Got it. Merry Christmas, anyway.” He gave Peter a two finger salute and a wink as he backed out of the door and onto the snowy New York street. </p><p>Peter watched him go, feeling strangely lonely now in the empty store. Apparently Wade had nothing better to do on Christmas than drink, and the thought made Peter a little sad. For a moment, he wished he’d taken Wade up on his offer, but he got off at six am, and Wade would probably have drunk himself to sleep by then. </p><p> </p><p>As it turned out, Peter was dead wrong, and by six am, Wade Wilson was back in his store. He stopped short when he saw Peter. </p><p>“Sorry,” he said, “Didn’t come back to bother you, I swear, I just want some coffee. But damn, you’re <em> still </em> working?” </p><p>Peter shrugged, rolling his tired shoulders. “Yeah, I’m almost off.” He checked his phone, his hands still a little sticky with soda. “Flash’s late.” </p><p>“What the fuck kind of name is Flash?” Wade asked, screwing up his face. “Lemme guess, he’s a complete douchebag?” </p><p>“Yup,” Peter replied. “That about sums up his entire personality.” </p><p>Wade laughed shortly and headed over to the display of coffee in the corner of the store. He came back a few moments later with a large cup filled to the brim, trying to put the lid on it and swearing as he burnt his fingers. </p><p>“Shit is hot,” he said, setting it down on the counter. </p><p>Peter reached out and tapped the label printed on the cup: Warning: contents may be hot. “That’s why they write it right there on the cup,” he said, as if speaking to a child. </p><p>Wade just smiled. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to get burned, it might scar or something.” </p><p>Peter hesitated, unsure how to react. </p><p>“You can laugh,” Wade said finally. “I don’t get offended easily.” </p><p>“Oh it’s not that, the joke just wasn’t that funny,” Peter quipped, ringing up the coffee. </p><p>“Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.” </p><p>Peter gave him a deadpan look. “3.77.” </p><p>Wade pulled out his wallet again, this time it was almost empty as he handed the last of his cash over to Peter. </p><p>“So where’d you spend Christmas?” Peter asked, honestly curious where Wade had been all night and where his money had gone. </p><p>“Strip club,” Wade said easily. </p><p>“Oh, is that where you work?” Peter asked, intending to poke a little fun at Wade’s masculinity. He seemed like a macho type of guy, and Peter thought it might rattle him. </p><p>Instead, Wade smiled. “Aw, you think I’m hot enough to be a stripper? Thanks Petey, that’s very sweet.” </p><p>Peter wondered for a moment how Wade knew his name, before realizing he was wearing a name tag. He seriously needed sleep. “Well <em> I’d </em>slip some ones in your g-string, if I had any money.” Peter was finding himself warming up to Wade, he realized. He did his best to distance himself again. Wade was just another customer, and a slightly annoying one at that. </p><p>“You’re gonna make me blush,” Wade answered, taking a sip of coffee. He set it down on the counter again and pulled a napkin out of his pocket. “Got a pen?” </p><p>“Sure…” Peter said, producing one from behind the counter. </p><p>Wade accepted the pen, and scrawled some numbers down messily on the napkin before sliding it across the counter to Peter. “In case you ever want a private show,” he said, offering Peter a wink. Then he picked up his coffee and strode out the door. </p><p>Peter watched him go--he <em> did </em>have a fantastic ass--and then looked back down at the number. A private show, huh? Peter shook himself, attempting to bleach the thought out of his head. No. Wade looked like trouble, and Peter didn’t need any more of that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading, tell me what you thought/what you want to see more of? Or if you want to read more of it at all? I'm kind of unsure about this fic lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So people actually seem to like this fic. I'm going to try my best to continue it.<br/>I changed the title, it just wasn't working for me. It's from the song Wake Me Up by Foreign Air. I have ADHD and can't seem to write without music playing in the background, so every story I write has a "theme song," whatever I was listening to on repeat while writing it, lol.<br/>Thanks for all the comments and kudos, hopefully y'all enjoy this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Peter slammed open the door to his studio apartment, he was ready to drop. Flash hadn’t shown up until five past seven, rounding Peter’s shift up to a solid eleven hours. </p><p>A long, lukewarm shower later--the pipes in Peter’s building tended to run hot and cold--and Peter was damn ready for sleep. He pulled his still-sticky hoodie back on with a sigh. It was the warmest thing he owned, and the heater barely worked. He flopped down onto his mattress, running a hand through his overgrown hair and staring out the window at the fresh snow. He tossed. He turned. Sleep wouldn’t come.  </p><p>His phone lit up with a text from Gwen. He wasn’t getting to sleep anyway, so he rolled over and picked up the phone. </p><p>“Merry belated Christmas!!” Peter read. “I know you had to work, but hopefully you got to spend some time with your aunt, too.” </p><p>“Yeah, we spent Christmas Eve together,” he texted back. “Guess who got a soda chucked at his head last night?”</p><p>Gwen’s response was almost immediate, she was a fast texter. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. Anything else interesting happen?”</p><p>“No, just some weird customers,” Peter responded. </p><p>“Any of them hot?” Gwen had been trying to set him up with someone ever since his break up with Mary Jane. </p><p>Wade was certainly attractive, maybe not conventionally considering the scars, but his face had strong, appealing features and bright blue eyes. And that body… “Maybe one of them,” Peter finally texted back. </p><p>“Did you get their number?”</p><p>Peter tapped his fingers against his phone for a moment before responding. “Yeah…” Wade’s napkin was still in his pocket. </p><p>“That’s great!! Did you text them yet?”</p><p>“No...he seemed like trouble.” </p><p>“Aren’t those the ones you like?” Gwen punctuated the text with a wink emoji. </p><p>“He had a lot of cash, I think he’s a drug dealer or something.” </p><p>“Wait, he’s hot and rich and you have his number?? It’s sugar daddy time Peter I can’t believe you’re sleeping on this.”</p><p>Peter rolled his eyes and set the phone down on the floor beside his mattress. He pulled Wade’s napkin out of his pocket and uncrumpled it, staring at the digits. He remembered Wade’s charming, self-assured flirtation with a half smile. What the hell, he decided finally, reaching for his phone. </p><p>He typed a message and deleted it a few times, before going with: “Hey, it’s Peter from Dave’s liquor store.” </p><p>Before he could stop himself, he squeezed his eyes shut and hit send. Maybe Gwen was right. Maybe Peter did like trouble.  </p><p> </p><p>When Peter woke up, blinking sleepily, he had eleven unread texts from an unknown number. He panicked for a moment before opening them and realizing it was Wade. He read them, starting at the top. </p><p>“Hey Petey, interested in that private show?”</p><p>The next text had been sent an hour later. “Sorry, did I come on too strong?” </p><p>Another hour later, another text. “I did end up burning myself on the coffee, by the way.”</p><p>“Sorry. I’ll stop.” </p><p>A few hours later, more texts: </p><p>“Sooo, you working tonight?” </p><p>“Just wondering.” </p><p>“If not, I mean, I have other plans. It’s fine.” </p><p>“Sorry, never was very good about the no-double-texting rule.”</p><p>“I’m better in person I swear.”</p><p>“Well, you know that, you met me.” </p><p>“Actually, maybe ‘better’ isn’t the right word.” </p><p>As Peter stared at the screen, yet another text popped up. </p><p>“Sorry, I’ll uh...find a different liquor store I guess.” </p><p>Despite himself, Peter felt a fond smile creeping over his face. So confident in person, Wade was unspeakably awkward over text, apparently. “You’re fine, I was just asleep,” he wrote back. </p><p>“Oh right, sleep. I forget people do that sometimes,” Wade responded. </p><p>“And yeah, I am working tonight.” </p><p>“Ah shit. Well I’ll probably end up down there buying booze, so we’ll see each other anyway.” </p><p>“Can’t wait,” Peter wrote back, hoping the hint of sarcasm was evident. </p><p> </p><p>Wade leaned back against the couch, staring around at the trash and boxes that lined the floor of his apartment. He needed to unpack--and probably clean--but he just didn’t have the energy. Not sleeping for over 24 hours definitely had something to do with that, but every time Wade laid down to sleep, the voices in his head had him all to themselves--and they weren't always nice. On the other hand, when he did manage to sleep, it was plagued by nightmares, forcing him to relive the past before startling him awake, sweaty and shaking. </p><p><em> You’re going to wish this place were clean if you ever get that cutey from the liquor store home, </em>one of his voices interjected. </p><p><em> Like he’s got a chance at that, </em>another of the voices responded. </p><p><em> He texted me, </em>Wade thought. <em>That must mean something good...</em> </p><p>
  <em> He was probably just messing with you. There’s no way he really wants to fuck a freak like you, you know that right?  </em>
</p><p>Wade took a deep breath and let it out again, attempting to tune out the voices. They’d been really loud today, picking at all Wade’s insecurities and interrupting his thoughts. But they’d been with Wade since he was a teenager, and at this point, he was used to dealing with them. Still, trying to shut them up felt impossible sometimes.</p><p>Getting drunk had helped, before. And hey, it doubled as an excuse to see Peter again, so that was a plus. In any event, it beat sitting around his apartment sober. Grabbing his coat and pulling the hood up, Wade walked downstairs. </p><p>Dave’s liquor store was packed tonight. Wade got in line. Peter made eye contact with him; Wade gave him a small wave. After a moment, Peter waved back, not stopping as he rang up a customer’s purchases. </p><p><em> He waved back! </em>Wade thought. </p><p>
  <em> Wow, it’s almost like he likes us or something.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Barely tolerates” might be a better expression.  </em>
</p><p>Wade continued waiting in line and ignoring his voices, watching Peter work. It was somewhat impressive. Peter was fast. </p><p>Finally, Wade was next in line, and no one was behind him, meaning he’d have the opportunity to flirt again. The man ahead of him was buying chocolates and wine. Peter rang them up swiftly and held out a hand for the man’s card. </p><p>Peter swiped the card, and sighed. He typed the card’s numbers into the machine, and huffed another sigh, handing the card back. “It says it’s declined, do you have another card you can--” </p><p>“No, I don’t have another card. And I <em> have </em> money.” </p><p>“Sorry, sir, it’s not going through.” Peter’s eyes were dead tired behind his overgrown bangs. </p><p>“Well I don’t carry cash on me, I don’t want to get mugged, damn city gets more dangerous every year--” </p><p>“If you don’t have another payment option, I can’t help you, I’m sorry.” </p><p>“Run the card again,” the man ordered. </p><p>Peter obliged him, and then handed the card back again, shaking his head. </p><p>“You’re typing the wrong numbers in. You must be.” </p><p>“I promise I’m not,” Peter said, in that deadpan way he had. </p><p>“Well, what am I supposed to tell my wife? I’m already late for dinner as it is--” </p><p>“That’s really not my problem,” Peter said cooly. </p><p>“You little shit--” </p><p>“Hey,” Wade said, making the word quietly threatening. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. </p><p>The man spun around, stopping short when he saw Wade’s face. He recovered himself quickly. “This is none of your--” </p><p>“Actually, it really is, cause I have to stand here and wait for you while you harass someone who’s just doing his job.” Wade lowered his voice, narrowed his eyes. “It’s pissing me off.” </p><p>“Is that so?” The other man crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. “What are you gonna do about it?” </p><p>Wade leaned in closer, getting in the man’s face. “I just might do what the voices are telling me to.” Wade dropped his voice even lower, made it a growly whisper. “They’re suggesting some very nasty things I could do to you right now.” </p><p><em> We didn’t say shit. </em>Wade ignored them. </p><p>It seemed to work, however, the other man paled, and leaving his wine and chocolate on the counter, turned and left. </p><p>Wade smiled to himself as he watched the other man walk hurriedly away. He <em> could </em> look convincingly crazy when he wanted to.  </p><p>“Thanks,” Peter said. </p><p>Wade turned back to him, drinking in Peter’s tousled hair and warm brown eyes. “No problem, Petey.” </p><p>“So do you actually hear voices, or is that just a bit you do to scare people?” </p><p>
  <em> Uh oh. He’s on to us.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s going to think you’re insane, you’ve gotta lie— </em>
</p><p><em> Shut up, </em>Wade thought. He was hesitating too long, he realized. He decided to play it off. “I do, actually,” he said, leaning on the counter. “They think you’re very cute.” </p><p>
  <em> He’s definitely too hot for you. Although that’s not saying much. </em>
</p><p>Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head. He didn’t seem to think Wade was serious though, and Wade decided he’d rather keep it that way. </p><p>“So,” Wade said. “I’ve got a date with a guy tonight.” </p><p>“Is that so?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>“Yeah, his name’s Jack Daniels, think you can hook me up?” </p><p>Peter rolled his eyes and reached behind him to grab a bottle off the shelf. “So, you and Jack, seeing each other two nights in a row...” Peter shot Wade a look as he rang up the whiskey. “Sounds like the relationship’s getting pretty serious.” </p><p>“Longest-lasting relationship of my life,” Wade said, handing over a twenty. </p><p>Peter took the money but didn’t open the cash register. “I’m sorry, that’s...gotta suck.” He looked pained.</p><p>Damn, apparently that joke had been a little too dark. “Don’t feel too bad for me,” Wade replied, “I’ve got the voices in my head for company, remember?” </p><p>
  <em> Careful. You make too many jokes like that, he’s gonna catch on.  </em>
</p><p>Peter just shook his head again, opening the register. He handed Wade his change; their hands touched for a moment. Peter pulled away. “So, you live close by?” </p><p>“I just moved in upstairs, a few days ago.” Wade shoved his change into his pocket. “And as you’ve probably noticed, I buy a lot of liquor, and you work in a liquor store, so...you’re gonna be seeing a lot of me.” </p><p>“Lucky me,” Peter said sarcastically, but his eyes twinkled a little as he pushed the Jack towards Wade, green and gold flecks catching the light. </p><p>Wade picked up his whiskey. “Sorry in advance.” </p><p>Peter drummed his fingers on the counter, looking up at Wade. Those eyes were sparkling, even in the drab fluorescent lighting. “Who knows, you just might become my favorite customer.” </p><p>Wade felt a hot rush run through him, meeting Peter’s gaze. This was Peter flirting back, right? It had to be. </p><p>
  <em> Or he’s just toying with you. Stringing along a scarred, creepy freak for fun and games.  </em>
</p><p>Wade looked away. “Well, see you around then, I guess.” He turned to leave, but as he got to the door, Peter called out to him. </p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>Wade looked back. </p><p>“You’ve got my number…” Peter looked down and back up again. Did he know how cute it was when he batted his eyelashes like that? “If you ever get tired of the voices' company. Or Jack’s.” </p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wade replied. He gave Peter a smile, and walked out into the slush-covered street. </p><p>His immediate physical attraction to Peter was turning into something dangerously like a crush. Wade couldn’t help it. Peter didn’t treat him with pity, or fear, like most people did. And it had been a long time since he’d met someone who could keep up with his sense of humor. And those damn eyes… </p><p>
  <em> I won’t say I told you so when he breaks your heart.  </em>
</p><p>Wade pulled his hood down lower over his face as he shuffled through the melting snow. He unscrewed the lid of the bottle and took a long drink. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Poor Wade.<br/>Thanks for reading...leave a comment, tell me what you liked? They mean a lot &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Peter finally got off work, he was dead tired, as usual. And he had to work in the morning, too. At least his shift had been short tonight, only six to midnight. But his customers tended to be assholes lately, and while Peter had plenty of practice dealing with them, it was still exhausting. If only Wade were there to scare </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> his customers off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter mulled over that moment in his head. He couldn’t lie, Wade getting protective like that was kind of hot. Peter shook himself. He barely knew the man. He didn’t even know if Wade was kidding about hearing voices. And a guy whose longest-lasting relationship was with a particular brand of whiskey couldn’t be good news. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought hit him with a pang of sadness as he walked down the icy street, arms wrapped around himself. It didn’t take a genius to work out Wade lived a lonely life--anyone who spent Christmas in a strip club didn’t have a lot of connections. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But for all he knew, that was simply because Wade drove everyone in his life away. Maybe he was an angry drunk. Peter didn’t want to get mixed up with a guy like that. And he still had no idea where Wade got all his cash from--his wallet had been full again tonight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter could certainly come up with plenty of reasons to stay away from Wade, but as he laid in bed that night, sleep refusing to come, he found his fingers reaching for his phone and pulling up his messages from Wade, re-reading them with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite Peter’s invitation, Wade hadn’t texted him. Peter found himself strangely disappointed. He couldn’t shake the thought of Wade drinking alone. Doing his best to push the image out of his mind, Peter rolled over to try and get some rest.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wade was burning. Everything was burning, pain enveloping his senses, lost in a forest of flames. The harder he tried to suck in air, the more he choked, the air tasting rusty and bitter as smoke filled his lungs. He was trying to crawl towards the light, but it was rapidly disappearing, until it was gone, consumed by fire. Wade was going to die, he was going to die here, choking on his own screams, and his last thoughts would be nothing but </span>
  <em>
    <span>pain. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade started awake in bed, smacking at himself, trying to put out imaginary flames. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not burning, idiot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade blinked against the darkness, sitting up and searching the wall for the light switch. He found it, and clicked it on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was better than the encroaching, stifling darkness, but the air in the room still felt hot and stale, pressing in on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stumbling outside, Wade stuck a cigarette between his teeth. He was wearing only a v-neck shirt, and the cold helped to ground him, bringing him back to the present. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was here, this was real. He wasn’t going to die. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’d be better off dead. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was dawn, pink light peeking out from behind the heavy grey clouds. He’d managed to sleep for a couple hours, then. It had only made him more tired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a rough night, one of those nights that made him start to agree with the voices instead of resisting, made him start to believe what they said. He was between clients at the moment, and all the free time was making him worse.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was exhausted, and the liquor had worn off. All he wanted was to get drunk and stare at the wall of his apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking back inside, he pulled his hoodie on, grabbed his wallet, and then headed downstairs to the liquor store. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was standing behind the counter at Dave’s, rubbing his tired eyes and sipping his coffee when Wade walked in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade walked up to the counter, his shoulders sagging and his usual grin nowhere to be found. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, Peter noticed.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Petey,” he said, his voice husky and quiet. “They got you working again this morning?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, they’ve been fucking with my schedule lately.” Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “What can I get you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you can guess what I’m here for by now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coffee?” Peter guessed. Wade looked like he seriously needed caffeine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Whiskey?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wade...it’s seven am.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” Wade gave him a very poor attempt at a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I interest you in some NyQuil instead? We have berry flavor.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Jack and I have something special going on.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you ever sleep?” Peter was starting to wonder if Wade had slept since Peter had met him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if I can help it.” Wade tugged on his hood in what seemed like a reflexive action. His eyes were far away for a second. Then they focused on Peter again. “So, uh, one bottle of Jack, please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe you and Jack could use some time apart,” Peter said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some bitter emotion flashed over Wade’s face. It seemed closer to sadness than anger. It disappeared too quickly for Peter to place. “What can I say, I miss him as soon as he’s gone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a long pause. Peter stared at Wade’s face, searching his eyes for a hint of what was going on behind them. He came up with nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So...can I get my whiskey now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Peter said, surprising himself. “I’m not gonna sell you liquor when what you need is food and sleep.” He didn’t even know Wade, not really, but he knew that round the clock drinking couldn’t be healthy for anyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade scratched his jaw with thick fingers, staring back at Peter. “You’re refusing me service? Seriously?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come back here with a bottle of NyQuil. And a sandwich or something. Then I’ll ring you up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like being told what to do.” Wade’s voice had gotten quieter, lost its usual warmth. There was a dangerous edge to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter just folded his arms, refusing to let Wade intimidate him. “Then find a different liquor store.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stood there looking at each other for a long moment. Peter began to regret his decision, staring into Wade’s icy blue eyes. He waited for Wade to get angry, for him to threaten Peter with getting him fired, or maybe even physical violence. Peter had had customers do worse for a lot less. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Wade just stood there, the same defeated sag to his imposing shoulders. Finally, he sighed, stretching his arms above his head. The sleeves of his hoodie slipped down his wrists, exposing more scars. “Alright, gorgeous. You win this round.” Wade turned and walked back into the store, returning with a bottle of berry flavored NyQuil and a turkey sandwich and setting them on the counter. “Breakfast of champions,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter allowed himself to smile as he rang them up. It was still better than Wade drinking his way through breakfast. He wasn’t sure why he even cared, but he did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I get a pack of Marlboros, too? Or are you gonna lecture me about lung cancer?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter reached behind him and pulled down a pack of cigarettes from the rack. “I was just...worried.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a smile playing on Wade’s mouth, a hint of his usual humor. “Aw, Petey, are you catching feelings?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter rolled his eyes. “You just look awful, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what they tell me,” Wade said, handing Peter some cash. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean…” Peter wet his lips. “You look tired, I meant.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, I know I’m a butterface.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your face is…” Peter looked up at Wade, trying to come up with something complimentary to say without revealing just how attractive he found the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Horrifying?” Wade supplied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter huffed. “I was gonna say handsome.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I’m handsome, huh?” Wade was smiling again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t read too much into it,” Peter said, shoving Wade’s stuff into a bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Petey.” Wade picked up the bag and began to walk away, but spun back around when he got to the door. “But for the record, I think you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>unbelievably</span>
  </em>
  <span> handsome, so if you ever wanna ride all this,” he gestured at himself, “Like it’s some kind of fucked-up carnival ride, just let me know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter leaned on the counter, chin in his hand. “Yeah, I’ll let you know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade gave him a wink as he left. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Petey's totally catching feelings. <br/>Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I've been getting depressed again, sorry this chapter is kind of short. It's really just more of Peter and Wade's weird flirting cause that shit is fun to write and cheers me up.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a couple days before Peter saw Wade again. He came through the door of Dave’s liquor store with a spring in his step, sending the bell jingling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Petey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was midnight, the start of Peter’s shift, and he was already tired. He took another sip of his energy drink and set it down on the counter. “Hey, Wade.” Peter looked Wade up and down as he walked up to the counter. “You look better.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Wade’s grin was back on his face. It disappeared as he looked at Peter. “You don’t look so good, though. Like, you’re still gorgeous, just...you look like you need sleep.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do.” Peter rubbed his eyes. They had him working round the clock lately, at all hours of the day and night, and he was having a hard time getting rest. He woke up every morning or night or afternoon shivering and feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. He was probably getting sick, he realized. Great, just great. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t they ever give you a day off?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need the money,” Peter said. He pressed his fists against the counter, the worry that he usually repressed bubbling up to the surface. “Even with how much I’ve been working, I’m still not sure how I’m gonna afford rent and food at the same time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Petey. That’s...awful.” Wade’s face had fallen even further, but then it suddenly brightened. “If you’re hungry though, you can always come over to my house. I make a damn good stack of pancakes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter narrowed his eyes at Wade, wondering if that invitation was entirely innocent. Still, home-made pancakes sounded </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d been surviving off of expired cup noodles from Dave’s lately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that face about?” Wade asked, noticing Peter’s suspicion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Once you get me in your apartment to eat pancakes, what’s your next move?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade shrugged. “Video games?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gave him a disparaging look. “Sure you’re not gonna try and get me in your bed?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not that kind of guy,” Wade said, that deep voice uncharacteristically soft and serious for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter raised an eyebrow. Wade had done nothing but flirt relentlessly since meeting him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get me wrong,” Wade replied, “I’m a total slut, but...people only end up in my bed cause they’re dying to be there. Not because I…‘got them’ there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter eyed Wade, trying to decide how much of that he believed. But the allure of pancakes proved too much, and if he were being honest, spending more time with Wade didn’t sound half bad. “Alright,” he said finally. “I could go for pancakes, then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect!” Wade sounded overjoyed. “What time do you get off?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, well tonight I get off at eight am, actually, so--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just in time for breakfast!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I...I guess it is.” Peter couldn’t help the smile spreading over his face at Wade’s enthusiasm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, it’s a plan. See you at eight.” Wade gave him a smile in return, and began to walk out, waving over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Peter said, “Didn’t you want to buy something?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade turned back. “Oh, right...um…” He approached the counter again. “Can I get a pack of smokes?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marlboro shorts, right?” Peter grabbed a pack and set it on the counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, you remembered.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only thing short about you, supposedly.” Peter looked up at Wade. “Kind of hard to forget.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade shook his head in mock offense. “You say ‘supposedly,’ like I’m not perfectly ready and willing to prove it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure you are,” Peter said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “But for now it’s an unsubstantiated claim.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. But if you ever want to conduct more thorough research into my...unsubstantiated claims, be my guest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gave him an unimpressed look. “I’ll bring my ruler. And a magnifying glass, just in case.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might want to bring a yardstick.” Wade gave him a wink. “Just in case.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re such an idiot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, fine, that was a bluff.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stifled his smile, giving Wade a serious look. “Anyway, this whole conversation is beside the point, because that’s not what I’m really going to be judging you on.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, is this a ‘size doesn’t matter because it’s all about the technique’ situation?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Peter leaned across the counter. “I’m going to be judging you on the quality of your pancakes. So they better be good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, they will be,” Wade said, stepping closer. “Best you’ve ever had.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were suddenly very close, closer than they’d been before with only the counter between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Peter replied, ignoring the way his skin felt hot having Wade so near.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade leaned down a little. “You can go full Gordon Ramsay on me if you’re disappointed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their faces were very close together now. Peter swallowed. “I do a pretty good Gordon impression.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you really?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shrugged with his eyebrows. “My aunt thinks it’s funny.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I’m sorry I won’t get to see it, cause these pancakes are going to be the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, huh?” Peter wet his lips, despite himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Definitely. That is, until you taste my…” Wade leaned in closer, until he was beside Peter’s ear. “Apple pie,” he whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter straightened up and stepped away, breaking the tension. “Is that a euphemism for something disgusting?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I bake.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll look forward to it then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s pulse was still racing a little from being so close to Wade, he realized, his face feeling hot. </span>
  <span>He swallowed again, harder. “Um, well, see you at eight, then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade gave him a small, sly smile, like he could tell just how flustered Peter was, but it quickly spread into his usual grin. “Can’t wait.” He turned to walk out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Peter said, struck by a thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade turned back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“These pancakes…any chance of them being chocolate chip?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade smiled. “If that’s what you want, gorgeous, that’s what you’ll get.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter watched Wade leave, his head full of chocolate chip pancakes and...other things. He shook himself. Peter was not in the habit of sleeping with people on a first date--was that what this was? A date?--but with Wade...the temptation was definitely there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was going to Wade’s house for the pancakes, he reminded himself. Nothing more. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wade and Petey are gonna hang out! Outside of a liquor store! stay tuned to see how that plays out lol. <br/>I've been feeling hella down about my writing skills and I can't tell if this chapter sucks or not. Hopefully it doesn't and you enjoyed it. <br/>That's it, thanks for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry about the wait y'all, I've been having a hell of a time lately. Anyway I'm back with another chapter of this nonsense.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wade climbed the stairs to his apartment two at a time. He had a little less than eight hours to make his apartment presentable--that is, make it look less like an alcoholic, extremely messy mercenary lived there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hide the guns, hide the knives, hide the trash…</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still hadn’t unpacked completely, but he shoved the boxes against the wall at least and picked up the wrappers and bottles from the floor. Made sure his weapon collection was stowed in the closet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>These pancakes had better be damn good, after you talked them up this much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They will be, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wade thought back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to go grocery shopping, he realized, checking his cupboards frantically for chocolate chips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled his hoodie back on and took the stairs back down onto the street. The usual stares he got from strangers didn’t bother him so much tonight. Maybe it was just the fact that he was in a good mood--in the past couple days, he’d finally managed to find and complete a job. Or maybe it was just seeing Peter again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way Peter looked at him, it was intoxicating. He could get drunk off those big brown eyes, Wade decided. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And I’ll bet the hangover would be something else. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He likes me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wade thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He must, why else would he agree to come over? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Face it, dumbass. He’s using you for your free food. Why do you think he made sure he wouldn’t have to have sex with you first? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe, just maybe, he wants to spend time around me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wade argued. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Isn’t that just as likely? And the other day, when he was worried about me. Explain that, assholes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine. Maybe he actually managed to feel pity for something as fucked up as you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, you don’t have to be so negative all the time.” Wade realized he’d muttered his last thoughts out loud as a mother tugged her child away from him in the street, shooting him a look that was equal parts disgust and fear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade just waved at her and kept walking. Peter was coming over to his house, and he wasn’t going to let anything ruin his mood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was half past eight when Wade’s phone rang. Wade wiped his hands on a towel and picked up the phone. “Petey” with a sparkly heart emoji beside it showed up on the caller ID. Wade answered, pinning the phone against the side of his head with his shoulder so he could continue stirring his pancake batter. “Hey, gorgeous, finally off?” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, yeah, finally off. Just realized I actually don’t know where you live.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.” Wade stepped outside his apartment and ran downstairs. He saw Peter standing outside the liquor store down the street, and waved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter waved back, hanging up the phone and shouldering his backpack. “Hey,” he said when he reached Wade, a little breathless from the cold, his cheeks pink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked adorable, and Wade found himself speechless for a moment. “Hey,” he said eloquently. “Um, my place is just upstairs.” Wade belatedly realized he was only wearing a v-neck shirt, which didn’t do much to hide his appearance. Peter had never seen him without a hoodie on. Wade folded his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was looking him over, and Wade couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is he checking out my guns, or just getting more grossed out by me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wondered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Judging by the fact that you look like a burnt chicken nugget, I’m going to go with the latter. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, shut up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, lead the way,” Peter said finally. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, right. It’s freezing out here, sorry. My brain just kinda...spaces sometimes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m guessing the voices were saying something riveting.” Peter was wearing a half smile, and he didn’t look too annoyed, but that comment was worrying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade swallowed. “You know I don’t...actually hear voices, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter regarded him for a long moment that made Wade’s skin itch. “Okay,” he said finally. “It was just a joke, I...Sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay, it was funny, actually, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think I was a crazy person or something…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut up, Wade. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“We should go inside. C’mon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter followed him up the steps and inside the apartment. Wade looked at the hoodie draped over the couch, wishing he could put it back on. It would be a little too weird, though, to come back inside only to pull on a hoodie. Wade would just have to use this moment to work on his self-confidence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yikes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was looking around, eyes falling on the blank walls and the boxes. “Still moving in, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry it’s a little sparse…” Wade pulled out one of his barstools and patted it with a hand. “Have a seat, I’m still cooking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter obliged him, climbing onto the barstool and pulling off his hoodie. He ran a hand through his hair, only succeeding in mussing it more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade tore his eyes away from Peter and back to his pancake batter, pouring in a few more chocolate chips for good measure. He leaned down to adjust the stove knobs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what do you do for work?” Peter asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Private security,” Wade said, his go-to lie. He straightened back up and turned around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was looking at him quizzically. “Like a security guard?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kind of. You want some coffee?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, I could always go for coffee.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade turned back around and busied himself with the coffee maker, ignoring the prickly feeling he got around his neck lying to Peter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d probably run out of here screaming if he knew what you actually did. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was a fair point, but it only worsened Wade’s guilt. “So what about you? No offense, but clearly you hate your job. You got any…” he turned back around, looking at Peter again. “I don’t know, dreams? Goals? Aspirations?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter leaned his elbow on the granite countertop of the island and dropped his chin into his hand. “I used to. Try not to think about them much, anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It almost physically hurt, seeing all that tired </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopeless</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Peter’s big brown eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” Wade asked, wondering what had made Peter lose his spark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shrugged. “The reality of it is, I’ll never have the money for school.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade turned back to dig through his cupboard for pans. “What would you go for, if you did?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, science is my passion. I just love figuring out how stuff works. I haven’t narrowed it down to one specific subject yet, I’m kind of all over the place. But like I said, I could never afford it, so…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade slammed his pans down on the burners and turned back to Peter. “Scholarships?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shook his head. “I doubt my grades are good enough. I started working when I was sixteen, to help my aunt pay the bills, and school kinda...became my second priority.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s still...gotta be worth a shot at least, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sighed. “I dunno.” He was fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. “Can we...talk about something else?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Sure. Of course.” Wade wet his fingers and sprinkled water into his pans. There was a small crackle, but they still weren’t hot enough. “So how’d your night go? Get any Cokes thrown at you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, don’t remind me. Just a couple angry assholes, but nothing too bad.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That place needs a bouncer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That got a soft chuckle out of Peter. “Are you offering your services? Tired of private security?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I made short work of that one shitstain, you gotta admit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That you did.” Peter huffed a sigh. “Wish I was more intimidating.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t wanna look like me. Trust me. Seeing this face staring back at you in the mirror every morning? Nightmare fuel.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gave him a long, hard look. Wade stared back, entranced by those big brown eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Peter looked away. “You gotta stop being so negative about yourself,” he mumbled down at the counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From anyone else, the words would have sounded like they came straight from the pages of some hack self-help book, a condescending attempt at getting him to believe pretty lies. But Peter looked...genuinely upset by Wade’s opinion of himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wade wordlessly flicked the pans with water again, and this time they spattered. “Hot enough for pancakes!” he said, forcing some cheer into his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gave him a small smile in return, and with that, they slipped back into their usual banter. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry it's short, I've got more on the way though. I still have no idea where I'm going with this story, but it's a lot of fun to write.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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